Chapter 4: The Lion's Den

Laughter and clinking glasses fill the ballroom: a place that epitomized how rich and influential a person was. And here I found myself, walking into the middle of the room, scanning what surrounded me. I was ready for this — this was the lion's den. Only I was not going to be prey this time round.

I had come here for one reason: to bring down Thorne Crimson and all he was. But first, I had to survive this world.

And I was not going to do that as 'Emma'.

All my name, all my past had to be buried. Tonight, I wasn't the girl he once humiliated, the one he and his Crimson Brotherhood tortured in college. Tonight, I was Nora, woman with her own mystery, and I would make sure that's the only version of me he saw.

I knew this moment would come; I had prepared for it in every way possible, but seeing him up close was still like staring into the eyes of a predator: charismatic, dangerous, and utterly commanding. As he made his way through the crowd, moving with that unshakeable confidence, I reminded myself that I wasn't here to be intimidated.

He wasn't my focus tonight. His downfall was.

But it seemed, as if that, Thorne's glance and my eyes met. A recognition flash there, I saw, a flicker at something I couldn't recognize; but whatever it is was gone in an instance. He didn't remember me, not really-not any more.

He moved slowly and intentionally towards me. As if by a wave, his presence parted the people so that before I could draw another breath, he stood before me. His height was imposing, but his eyes were bright and calculating, as if measuring me, searching for something.

I kept my composure and offered him a soft smile. He could look all he wanted, but he was not going to find what he was looking for.

He reached out first, offering a hand with the kind of casual arrogance that only a man like him could get away with.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with authority and charm. "Thorne Crimson."

I didn't even hesitate. I wasn't Emma, the girl he had tormented. I wasn't even the person he'd seen before. I was someone else now. Someone who knew how to keep her secrets.

“Nora,” I said, putting my hand in his with just the right amount of ease, “Nora Stone.”

He raised an eyebrow with the name, turning it over in his head a second. Then the smile just broke out on him. I knew exactly what was going through his head-just another new face at the exclusive world. One more ravishing beauty simply fallen into his orbit-however it may be. But he would never even know who I am.

“Nora, a pleasure,” Thorne said, his smile widening as he held my hand a moment too long. “The pleasure is mine, I’m sure.”

I took a slow, deliberate breath, holding his gaze without flinching. “The pleasure is mine as well, Mr. Crimson. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” he said with a smooth tone, eyes glinting with that trademark confidence.

"Of course," I said, my voice light, easy. "You are a public figure here in the city. People admire your. Business”

The way I spoke to him about business acumen-however slight the sign was of interest-made him slouch in a bit as his expression changed. This guy was starting to string two and two together and was intrigued. I can see it.

His lips curled up in a sly grin. “I’m more than just a businessman, Nora,” he said. “I’m also the CEO of this little charity. I’ve been involved with this event for years now. It’s part of my… way of giving back.”

I let the words seep in for a minute, enjoying the calculating restraint in his voice. Thorne Crimson was no play-pretend rich CEO at charitable games. He ran too deep, had too much evil influence, and that charitable endeavor was just another spoke on his vast wheel of contact.

"It's impressive," I said, my voice soft but full of appreciation. "You built something important here. Something people can't ignore."

He turned briefly away, scanning the room as if silently appropriating all success this evening was meant to symbolize. His eyes returned to mine and I felt the unmistakable spark of curiosity in his gaze.

"Impressive, yes," he said. "But I must admit, I haven't seen you here before. This is a very exclusive event, and I tend to notice new faces. What brings someone like you to an event like this, Nora?"

And with this question, the challenge in it and the expectant wait of him as to what he was going to be expecting me to show of myself, the tension of that moment hung thick with implications.

“I am not really an attention-seeker. I like to fly under the radar. It is rather that people are so frank and open up so well when they feel they aren't being observed.”

He looked at me hard, like he was searching for the subtext behind my words. That's all he found. My eyes flick to my lips and back up, scanning, pushing him, trying to find that rhythm within me.

Something had changed in the expression across his face; it was subtle yet unmistakable. A big change was in the game now with him beginning to run after it.

"Well, Nora," said Thorne, his voice dipping just a fraction, taking on that hint of warmth, the imperative.

"I'm afraid I shan't be able to resist knowing you better. You are very gorgeous,”

“Thank you,” I smiled at him.

"Let me get you a drink, Nora. I'm sure you'll find something here you like." I nodded slightly.

"That would be lovely."

As he took me to the bar, I couldn't help but beam inside. Thorne Crimson was already chasing me, already pulled in by the aura I had so lovingly woven around myself.

And when the time was right, I would make sure Thorne Crimson paid for every sin he had ever committed.

The music had changed—a slow, sultry rhythm that filled the ballroom and curled its way through the crowd like a hidden whisper. Dimmed lights cast everything softly in a golden glow, making it the perfect moment for him to make his move.

Thorne's eyes snapped to mine, a glint unmistakable in his gaze, as if he knew exactly what game we were both playing. The charm in his smile was the same as it had always been, but beneath it was something else: a sharpness, a possessiveness, as if he were already marking me as his next conquest.

His hand came out to me once more, and this time I felt this was intentional, almost a challenge. "Do you want to dance, Miss Stone?"

I lingered for only the snap of a second—it took that long to feel the change in the air, the unmistakable weight of history settling between us—but that was enough.

 I had a plan. And part of that plan was to never show weakness. So, I slid my fingers into his, forcing my palm to remain cool and confident over the nervous fluttering within my chest.

"Why, Mr. Crimson, I should be delighted," I replied, managing an ease that belied the storm swirling within.

He led me to the dance floor with a silent hand wrapped around mine, the gentle yet firm grip holding my fingers fast.

I knew without having to be told why he led me this far without him even needing to open his mouth: there was something about that small, secret smile in the corner of his eyes.

And reaching for the center of the dance floor, he pushed his hand across my hips and gently nudged me softly to where he wanted me to stand.

I swallowed hard. I hadn't been this close to him, in any case.

Still, I had to be calm. Stay focused.

This well-covered music enveloped us, sluggish and sensuous, violins humming in the background like faraway murmurings of dangerous promise. His body warmth seemed to draw me toward him; his face was an inch from mine. I could smell the cologne on him; it was thick and intoxicating, clinging to him like a second layer of skin.

Then there were those eyes.

His eyes were black as dark, burning with an uncanny intensity. The slight smile pulling at the curve of his lip was cunning, like he had us both trapped in this game and dance and was simply waiting for me to act.

I turned back quickly, heart racing, and the memories flooded through my mind again—the sounds of his laughter in those college dorm hallways, the sneering words when I had fallen in front of him and his friends, the easy way he reveled at my discomfort and knew, of course, that there was no way for me to counterattack.

I was weak then, afraid, frail.

Not so now.

Tightened my grip on his hand, pulling myself out from the dark pit that is my memories.

His hand dropped down onto the small of my back, drawing me in toward him.

The warmth emanating from his body penetrated the thinness of the dress, and I felt his chest on mine at every step.

"I see someone in you," he whispered low and smooth.

It made my heart race.